What is Mine
by Gwinny
Summary: Sherlock has always known Molly matters and he considers her his so what will happen when another man decides to take Molly as his own?
1. Chapter 1

He knew that she thought she didn't matter to him in fact he'd made sure of it. But nothing could be further from the truth.

Sherlock Holmes spent another restless night, with the lights of Baker Street shining light on the empty pillow beside him. His body ached with need, the need for her, and no matter how much he tried to not think of her in the passing hours, his thoughts always returned to her, _her, _Molly Hooper. Finally he got out of bed and raked his hands through his dark curly hair.

The light starkly sketched the sharp angles and planes of his face, while the shadows hid the piercing blue eyes. It was his eyes that gave away the methodically logical mind that was as sharp as a blade. That mind was struggling with the new and foreign thought that he had feelings true feelings for a woman. He tried to sort out how this had happened, how a pathologist whose feelings for him were so transparent had come to mean so much to him. It truly panicked him in two different ways, first he had to admit he was actually capable of caring for another, and secondly that he could never let her know about his feelings. If he did he would place her in danger. That was why he always pushed her away for her and his own protection.

Molly Hooper had numerous tasks to complete in the morgue, but her mind kept drifting back to what John Watson had told her in his text, Sherlock wasn't acting like himself. She'd forbidden herself to think about him anymore but her love-starved heart couldn't stop her. Anytime she'd tried to impress him he always slapped her down—hard—with his harsh words as effective as a whip. Anytime she dated, Sherlock somehow managed to ruin it with the whip of his tongue. Molly had promised herself to never spend a moment thinking about that hateful man. Even if she had promised herself that she wouldn't think about him she was still worried by John's text. She had to find out, try to see if he needed her help in any way. She wouldn't be able to sleep at night until she had done her best to talk to him and help him.

Molly made her way to her locker and as she put on her coat, scarf, hat and gloves to trudge to 221B Baker Street she found herself staring at her own reflection. She didn't have bad skin and she had a happy disposition. She had plain brown eyes and her hair looked scraggly to her critical eyes. How she ever thought that a man who was as attractive as Sherlock Holmes would find her remotely attractive was such an obscene idea that she couldn't but help wonder at why she'd thought of it in the first place. She slammed the locker shut and headed out the door.

As she rushed down the streets she found all thoughts running through her head about how Sherlock wasn't acting like himself. If John was worried enough to text her it had to be bad. She nearly turned around several times but determination kept her going. "Maybe he had trouble with a body, and that's why he wanted John to text me. To get me all worked up to come see him only to answer a question for him. That's probably all it is."

She was so intent on considering on all the possibilities that she didn't notice man following her. She had no warning of the attack until a steely arm caught around the middle and she felt the prick of a needle in her neck.

"Sherlock" was her last thought as the darkness enveloped her.


	2. Chapter 2

Entering the morgue to view a body from a case he was helping Lestrade with, Sherlock paused in mid step and looked around. Something was missing, Molly was missing her ever present scent of vanilla wasn't there and hadn't been for a while. He turned to John. "Where's Molly?" he tried to ask the question calmly but it came out more demandingly. "I'll find out" responded John after studying Sherlock for a moment.

All different thoughts were running through his head about Molly. Had she gone on holiday? No, Molly didn't take holidays. Was she ill? Maybe, but he'd seen her come in before when she was ill. Where was she? Had something happened to her?

As he was contemplating all the various reasons for why Molly was absent from the morgue when he needed her, Stamford approached him looking worried. "Sherlock," Stamford interrupted his thoughts, "I am glad to see you. I am worried…."

"About Molly" Sherlock ended the sentence for him. Worry running through him Sherlock knew he had to shut down those feelings and concentrate on her disappearance in the same manner he approached any other case. Stamford nodded his head. "Yes it's Molly," he told him tensely. "She can't be found anywhere. Molly is the most dedicated employee I've ever worked with so when she didn't turn up for her shift today I was immediately concerned. When I called her and there was no response I went to her apartment but she wasn't there either. The last anyone ever heard from her or saw her was last night when she finished her shift."

John returned and said the same thing as Stamford."Molly is nowhere to be found, nobody has seen her since yesterday. It's not like her to disappear. Sherlock, something is very wrong, I can feel it."

Sherlock kept his face expressionless, though inside he felt overwhelming worry. His mind riffled and dismissed all the reasons for her absence. Molly was a responsible person, if she was ill she would have called Stamford, if she'd decided on an impromptu holiday she would have called. His heart thundering he kept his voice calm as he looked from John's to Stamford's faces.

"Come on John, we'll do a thorough search of her route home and her flat," he said. "We'll find her within the hour."

Seeming relieved about Sherlock's involvement in the case, Stamford let out a breath of relief. "The last time she was seen was headed out of St. Bart's. She clocked out at 7pm and went to her locker to change before leaving at 7:30pm."

"How does she usually get home?" Sherlock questioned tersely.

"Sometimes by walking, bus or cab it depends."

"Depends on what?"

"The weather."

"Well, it was dry last night with warm temperatures so she was more likely to walk home especially if she'd just taken a shower which she usually does before she returns to her flat." Sherlock deduced quickly.

Sherlock turned and clattered down the steps with an astonishing speed leaving John to thank Stamford and run to keep up. "Come on John" Sherlock shouted at him as they exited the hospital.

Sherlock's mood progressed from worry to frustration as they walked the path to Molly's flat. John was talking calmly with men from Sherlock's homeless network to see if any of them had seen Molly walking home last night. Sherlock didn't want to talk to anyone he wanted to find her NOW! Knowing that Molly was out there, perhaps hurt, filled him once more with unfamiliar emotions. Molly was so important to him and he was only now realizing it. He couldn't bear to think of losing her. He had to find her.

"Did you hear that Sherlock? Tim has some useful information about Molly." asked John, after a quizzical look his way.

"What?" Sherlock said sharply stepping closer to Tim.

Tim stared at him with worried eyes and answered the sharp demand. "Last night I saw the woman he called Molly walking by herself. As I was asking for change there was a big man who put a needle in her neck and carried her away. I-I was to tell you who took her, but I had no part in it…"

"Who?" Sherlock demanded his temper straining. "Who was it? Tell me!"

"Moriarty," Tim whispered, recoiling from the look of murder in Sherlock's eyes.

As the name was whispered, Sherlock was already running off a direction only he knew in his head.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, running after him as fast as he could. "Sherlock …wait…"

Sherlock only ran faster, cutting his way through the London crowds. He knew what Moriarty was capable of and he was smothered by a black cloud of despair at the knowledge that he might have already lost Molly.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, favorites and follows. Also Sherlock doesn't belong to me I only hold admiration for it. _

Molly was aware that she was not in her bed. She felt heaviness on her legs and arms, cracking her eyes open she saw that both her legs and arms were chained to the bed. She felt terribly ill, as if she had food poisoning. She feared she was going to be sick and gag on her vomit. She moaned, while her mind tried to work out what had happened.

Suddenly, she saw something above her…a face…a face she'd hoped to never see again. She tried to say something but her voice didn't seem to work, her mouth just opened and closed.

'Shhh…' Long fingers moved over her smoothing her hair. "Relax. I'm not going to harm you."

The words confused her and Molly's disconnected brain suddenly made the connection of the voice to the image. "Jim…" she mumbled and then "Moriarrrty.." the words coming out slurred.

Her first impulse was to lurch off the bed but the chains held her down. Alarm bells were ringing in her head this was the man who'd dated her in order to get to Sherlock. She knew from John what this man was capable of. Right now all she could concentrate on what the nausea that was rolling through her like waves.

"Calm down you'll be fine in a while the drug will wear off and you'll come down," Moriarty explained to her.

"Why?" she asked, shaking either from the drug or from fear she didn't know as she realized she was helpless in this man's control.

Though she couldn't see all of his face, she heard the playful psychotic tone of voice, "Ah sweet Molly, I had no choice, I had to steal you away from him for myself."

"From whom?" she questioned not understanding Moriarty's words.

"From Sherlock, dear Molly," Moriarty said in a soft voice, stroking her hair once more. She opened her mouth to respond that she was never Sherlock's to begin with but he cut through her words. "You don't realize do you? You mean a lot more to Sherlock than you ever thought. But there's no point in thinking about getting back to Sherlock…you'll never see him again."

Molly lurched and struggled to sit up, only to remember the chains and be dragged down by them once more. Images were flashing through her mind of Sherlock and how much her heart beat to the thought of him, realizing that she might never see him again caused tears to fill her eyes but she refused to give into them.

"What are you going to do to me?" she managed to ask, struggling against the tears.

"I'm going to use you to bring Sherlock Holmes to his knees."

"I won't help," Molly replied, "and Sherlock won't come for me anyways, he doesn't care about me."

"Yes you will help and he'll come for you," he replied in a sing song voice. "I know of several ways to ensure your participation, though I would rather not mark your pretty body, yet."


End file.
